Days of Awe, Days of Hope

When I was growing up, the time around the High Holidays felt meaningful, exciting, and chaotic. My family took the holidays very seriously. We’d spend days cleaning the house and cooking in preparation for Rosh Hashanah. Our neighborhood would become quiet, as many Jewish families slowed down to celebrate the Jewish new year. We’d see families walking to synagogue in the streets. And lights left on late at night from dinners lasting hours. After Rosh Hashanah wrapped up, we’d head back to school for a few days and begin dreading Yom Kippur.

As I grew older, the Jewish holidays in the early fall always brought me back home to celebrate and eat (or not eat) with my family. It never occurred to me to do anything other than that. In my early 20s, I attended a friend’s wedding in the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. “What a strange time to get married,” I thought to myself. The rabbi performing the ceremony mentioned that while this wasn’t a common time to get married, this was actually a very holy time to do so, since we were in the 10 Days of Awe.

I honestly didn’t know too much about the purpose or meaning behind these 10 Days, other than anticipating a migraine from lack of caffeine on Yom Kippur. I was always so focused on the two holidays themselves, that I didn’t really pay attention to the time between.

Then, when I was in my 30s, on my journey to having children, my husband and I were embarking on the final step of IVF during the 10 Days of Awe. I was so caught up in my fertility journey, and its many steps, that I didn’t even realize the significance of the timing. It was my reproductive endocrinologist, Brian Levine, who mentioned during our visits and procedure that he felt confident I’d become pregnant not only because my medical results looked promising, but because of the special timing. He noted that we were in the middle of the 10 Days of Awe, which is a very spiritual time in Jewish observance.

For a variety of reasons, I did end up becoming pregnant during the 10 Days of Awe—not once, but twice, almost two years apart. It set off a curiosity for me to learn more about this time, and what it means for us. And it turns out these days are more than just a time to prepare to fast. Over the next few years, my thought process changed about the 10 Days, and I set out to learn more about the time between two of the most holy Jewish holidays. What makes them so unique? What are we “supposed” to do, or not do, during this time? And most importantly, how can I continue to shift my perspective toward feeling the sanctity of this time?

I was lucky enough to speak to two rabbis I admire. I reached out to Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove, whose perspective I’ve always appreciated. Cosgrove, a Conservative rabbi in New York, has a new book out—For Such a Time as This—that focuses on what it means to be Jewish today. “The image given to us is that on Rosh Hashanah, God opens the book of life, and during those days between, our fate hangs in the balance,” Cosgrove told me. “And on Yom Kippur, that book is sealed into the year to come. Who will live and who will die, who by sword and who by fire. We simply pray that by merit of our deeds, that we will be inscribed for a year of life in the year to come.” This thinking changed mine, in that I no longer thought of this time as two separate holidays, but rather a beginning, a middle, and an end to a very special span of holidays.

“So if you absorb the enormity of that image, then it’s a time that our fate really hangs in the balance,” said Cosgrove. “And thus, the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are a time of performing an audit of the soul, which in Hebrew is a cheshbon hanefesh.” I was struck by the term “audit of the soul,” and was immediately fascinated by all the things this could mean for me. And while I’ll likely always dread the fasting aspect of Yom Kippur, I can certainly do more to honor the introspection, repentance, and intention-setting this time asks of us.

“I think that the High Holidays perhaps provide the most opportunity for spiritual reflection and growth,” said Cosgrove. I asked if there was any connection to this time, and fertility, and his eyes lit up. I shared my story of becoming pregnant twice during the 10 Days of Awe, after trying and working very hard to become a parent. “One cannot enter into the holidays, or the 10 Days of Awe, without encountering themes of longing for a child, the birth of a child, or parenting a child,” he said. Among many mentions about fertility and parenting Cosgrove discusses, he says, “the holidays talk about ‘kerachem av al banim,’ meaning that God should have mercy on us as a parent has mercy on a child.”

Rabbi Aaron Raskin, an Orthodox rabbi in Brooklyn, expanded on the idea of the connection of the holidays to themes of fertility. “It is a time of divine blessing, primarily for children,” he told me. “On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we read the parsha where Hashem remembers Sarah, Rachel, and Chana. It’s a day where Hashem specifically blesses them with children.” All those years growing up and attending synagogue didn’t make the connection for me until now.

When I asked Raskin more about the significance of the 10 Days of Awe, he talked about the spiritual significance of renewal. “Before Rosh Hashanah each year, the light of the last year ascends on a high,” he said. “And when we blow the shofar, a new energy and wisdom comes into this world that never existed before.” When I ask how people can maximize this spiritually significant time, he said: “Make yourself a vessel to receive this new light, and the glory of God.”

This year, the anniversary of the Oct. 7 massacre falls during the 10 Days of Awe. I’ve been dreading this first anniversary, and wonder how it will feel to experience the marking of one year during the holiest time in Judaism. I asked Cosgrove his thoughts on the confluence of timing. “I feel both a sense of profound brokenness of the trauma of Oct. 7,” he said, “and subsequent to it, as a Zionist, and a Jew, I also feel a real fear that the world is on edge, and our fate is hanging in the balance.”

Cosgrove’s words resonated for me. I thought about years past, when I would go into the High Holiday season feeling joyous and hopeful, and how much less I feel that after this past year. No matter what happens, this year will feel different for many of us. The praying, the auditing of the soul, the cooking, the celebrating, and even the fasting this year will feel different. But I think back to my own miracles that have happened during the 10 Days of Awe, and to Raskin’s words about becoming a vessel to receive light, and I do feel a glimmer of hope, and greater purpose during this time than ever before.